


Trenches

by Nicole_Nicolasa



Category: Original Work
Genre: Background Relationships, Characters belong to me, F/M, First time posting pls how do I do this, He just had a crush on him he's a baby bi, It's WW1 what do you expect, M/M, Mild Gore, Original Character(s), Past Relationship(s), Um...please don't steal?, World War I, actually...my teacher read this, how tf do you tag, i was a wee baby when i wrote this pls be gentle, implied - Freeform, no beta we die like men, so yes beta
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-12
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:26:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26420353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nicole_Nicolasa/pseuds/Nicole_Nicolasa
Summary: “...You knew what I was going to say sooner or later” Remund said, brown eyes peering into dark green ones.“The army business…” Oliver murmured, crossing his arms in front of his chest.“Yes, the army business. Olly, we are at war. With someone with your skills, not one person would fall under your watch.” Redmund exclaimed, grabbing Oliver by the shoulders.Oliver looked him dead in the eyes.He knew that Redmuch wouldn’t stop pestering him about joining the army. He would always find ways to bring it up. The way that his hands gripped his shoulders. The way that his brown eyes basically lit up with fierce determination, and excitement. He wanted this. It looked as if he also needed it. It scared Oliver.The year was 1914. World War 1 had just begun to the people of the United Kingdom. And Oliver was right in the middle of it.This is my first time posting, please be gentle.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 3





	Trenches

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this when I was in the 10th grade for a World History Project. I'm now a freshman in University majoring for history. I thought it was about time I put this out in the world.  
> If any of these people sound familiar to you in some way, it's because 10th grade me took a lot of inspiration by people I admired back then. Apologies for that.  
> Not all of this is accurate, I tried my best. And if any of this has actually happened to anyone, it wasn't my intention to do that.  
> Do I plan on writing more? Sure, but I'm not sure when that will ever be. I love these characters with a burning passion, and I've written lot's of other of stories for them, with other people. This is actually an AU, since they don't actually live in WW1 era. I hope one day I can expand their world.  
> If any of you guys have any question or comments, let me know! i'll try to answer them as best of my ability.  
> ALSO! My Oliver is NOT named after Green Arrow, contrary to popular belief. You can't really see it here, but my friends like to tease me about it  
> Sorry about the formatting too.  
> Enjoy

Year: 1913  
When Oliver Quill first began seeing the propaganda posters, he was 18. He had been seeing them for a while now. Pictures of men in uniform, looking cheerful and at ease, as if there wasn’t a threat of war hanging above them. There weren’t as many posters as there would be in the future, but the British Government liked to be prepared. It didn’t help that Oliver was of age now, and that he was expected to join the army any day now. Oliver rolled his eyes as a group of younger boys blocked his view of the poster, talking excitedly about what it would be like if war would begin, and how they would most likely be 18 by that time. He huffed in annoyance, and proceeded to resume his walk home. The streets of London were as busy as ever. People shouting left and right. The honking of cars bouncing off the buildings. The sound of the Big Ben announcing the hour. Oliver counted the number of times that the bell rang, and cursed under his breath when he counted 12. Which meant it was noon. Which meant he was late. Oliver quickened his pace, and hurried towards the front of Westminster Cathedral, where his best friend, Redmund, would surely be waiting to give him an earful. Sure enough, as he approached the cathedral, he could see among the mods of people the unmistakable form of his friend. He hurried towards it.  
“Well, it’s about damn time!” A scottish accent called out, the voice belonging to the young man Oliver was hurrying to.  
Redmund Frieseal was a force to be reckoned with. He was an absolute arsehole and a hot-head, something his dark red hair never failed to point out. He was usually seen around with a cigar, so Oliver was slightly surprised to see him without one. Redmund’s brown eyes studied him critically.  
“You’re late.” He deadpanned “You’re never late.”  
“I was distracted,” Oliver said, waving a hand dismissively.  
Redmund scoffed, and began walking, motioning for Oliver to follow. Oliver glared at him, but did so nonetheless.  
“Have you heard about what happened in Paris?” Redmund said, hands searching for something in his coat pockets.  
“You mean the near-riot at Igor Stravinsky’s symphony? Of course I have.” Oliver murmured, looking around at the people surrounding him.  
Redmund seemed to find what he was looking for, and sure enough, took out a box of matches and a cigar. He put the cigar on his lips, and lit it. He took a big whiff of his cigar, and let it out slowly through his mouth. Oliver wrinkled his nose as the smell of smoke reached him.  
“You’re going to bloody kill yourself if you keep at it.” He snapped, waving a hand in front of him to clear the smoke.  
Redmund smirked, and took another whiff.  
“And what would the good doctor recommend?” He mused, raising an eyebrow.  
“Quitting” Oliver shot back, eyes narrowed in a glare.  
Redmund laughed, and swung an arm around Oliver’s shoulder.  
“Aw, come on Olly! Loosen up! Just because you’re one of the youngest students to graduate as a doctor in Lord knows how long, does not mean ye have to be all professional and stuff!” He barked, laughing.  
“At least I’m actually doing something useful! I don’t see you doing anything!” Oliver said, a slight hint of a smile playing on his lips.  
Redmund smirked, “I will do something! I’m going to join the army!”  
Oliver’s smile faded, only to be replaced by a frown.  
“The army?” He asked “Why the army?”  
Redmund took his arm off Oliver’s shoulder, and walked ahead of him, talking while doing so.  
“Think about it, Olly! There are rumours of war starting as soon as next year! And if I join, i'll be considered a war hero!” Redmund spoke excitedly, eyes shining with fierce determination.  
He stopped, and turned to look at Oliver.  
“Join me!” He said  
Oliver took a moment to process his best friend's words. When he did, his dark green eyes widened.  
“...What?” He asked, still not truly believing Redmund.  
“Join the army with me! We’ll be legends! Redmund, the fearless soldier, and Oliver, the miraculous army doctor!” Redmund said, hands shooting up.  
“What in God’s name makes you think I’ll ever join the army?” Oliver asked furiously, pushing past Redmund.  
Redmund grabbed Oliver’s arm, stopping him.  
“Don’t be like that Oliver. Going to war is something to look forward to! War is where boys become men! And we’ll show those krauts what the British Empire is made off!” Redmund gripped his arm tighter. “We’re invincible!”  
Oliver yanked his arm out of Redmund's grip.  
“You know we are most definitely not invincible!” He said spitefully. “I should know better than anyone! I’m a bloody doctor, for Christ sakes!”  
Redmund glared at Oliver.  
“What is wrong with ye?” He basically yelled out, “I swear, you are the weirdest boy I have ever met in my life! Anyone else would have jumped with joy at the thought of joining the army!”  
“You know damn well about my thoughts on war!” Oliver spit back, resuming his walk towards his home. He pushed past people despite their protest, and headed east. Redmund hurried to catch up to him.  
“Yeah, Yeah! You think war is unnecessary and stupid, and that there is nothing glorious about it! But ye have no idea how wrong ye are!”  
“Oh really? Give me one good example of a war that has ever done us good!”  
Redmund stopped in his tracks, and thought about it.  
“...Ok, I can’t really think about any braw examples, but come now!” Redmund exclaimed, “Ye can’t seriously think that way?”  
Oliver said nothing, and continued his walk home, Redmund following closely behind. They didn’t speak for the rest of the way there. When they finally managed to get home, Oliver hastily took his keys out, and unlocked the door. He proceeded to go in, and slam the door on Redmund's face, locking it.  
Many people wondered how exactly those two have managed to stay friends this long. Always seen bickering, never agreeing with each other, and constantly fighting, sometimes physically. Redmund was reckless. Oliver was precise. From what people could see, they were as different as water and oil. And yet, all these years, 17 in fact, they have stuck together, like peas in a pod.  
Redmund sighed when the door slammed closed. He put his head against the door, and waited. Soon enough, he heard the door unlock, and he turned the doorknob, entering. Oliver gave him nothing more than a glance as he entered. Redmund closed the door behind him, and took off his coat, hanging it.  
“...If I say I would consider it...would you stop pestering me about it?” Oliver spoke quietly, his back turned to Redmund.  
Redmund stood still for a moment, considering what to say next. He knew that this was a difficult topic to talk about, considering Oliver’s motto was to help people, not kill. Even if Oliver were to enlist as a doctor, Redmund knew that there was a chance of him actually having to kill someone.  
“Aye...you would help a lot of people Olly…” Redmund responded, taking a few steps toward Oliver.  
Oliver sighed, and turned to look at his friend.  
“...Alright...I’ll think about your...proposition.” Oliver said, words coming out slowly, and thoughtfully. “But this doesn't mean that I will be joining!”  
Redmund smiled, walking over to Oliver and ruffling his hair. Oliver swatted his arm away, giving him a look.  
“Aye, I know.” 

-Wednesday, August 5th, 1914.-

“Bloody hell…”  
Disbelieve and Shock. Those were the main emotions that coursed through him at the moment. Disbelief because of the news of Germany invading Belgium, and shock, because the British Empire had declared war on Germany.  
They were at war.  
Oliver blinked his eyes several times, trying to figure out if his eyes were deceiving him. They weren’t. The bold letters were still there.  
“GREAT BRITAIN DECLARES WAR ON GERMANY”  
Oliver shook his head. This couldn’t actually be happening, right? He had heard the rumors, but to think that they would actually do it?  
Oliver’s train of thought was interrupted by many loud whoops of joy. He looked up from reading the newspaper, to see a group of men jumping and shouting, one of them holding the same newspaper he currently held in his hand.  
“This is it, boys! The war is upon us!” One of the men shouted, pumping his fist in the air.  
“Do you think if I join the army, I’ll be deployed almost immediately?” another said, janking the newspaper from the original.  
“Most likely! Let’s go! If we go now, we might be able miss the line” one shouted, heading west. The others followed.  
Oliver sighed. No doubt Redmund would bring the topic about both of them joining the army again. He put the newspaper he was holding under his arm, and began the walk towards his work. Oliver by then, had already graduated college, earning his Medical degree, and became Doctor Quill. Oliver walked briskly, weaving in between crowded streets, when he heard his name being called out. He turned to see a young man, running to him. He stopped, and waited for the man to catch up.  
“Thank God I was able to catch up to you!” The man said, panting “I thought for sure I would have missed you!”  
“Well, if you didn’t always wake up late, Aurore, maybe you would have caught me earlier…” Oliver responded cheekily, smiling at him.  
Carlos Aurore pouted. His blue eyes, usually bright with mirth, darkened in mock sadness. He put his hand over his heart, feigned hurtfulness.  
“You wound me, Oliver! And I thought we were friends!” Carlos cried, clutching his chest.  
Oliver rolled his eyes, and thumped him in the back, sending Carlos stumbling.  
“Come on. We’ve got work to do.” He said, grabbing him by the shoulder and steering him towards the direction of the hospital they worked in. Oliver was a normal doctor. Carlos was a surgeon. They both worked in Queen Alexandra's Military Hospital. Carlos was a bright young thing. He was older than Oliver by about 2 years, making him 21. He was your typical European man. Blue eyes, blonde hair. But what blurred his image was his accent. Carlos was born in Great Britain, and lived there until he was about 5 years of age. His parents then moved to the United States, where he spent most of his childhood. When he turned 15, they moved back to England for family business. Because of this, his accent has a mix of American and British. Everyone finds this quite amusing in the hospital, especially when he uses American slang.  
“Have you heard the news?” Carlos asked, peering into Oliver’s face.  
“Yes, I have. Bloody brilliant, I tell you. People going off to war just to get shot at” Oliver said sarcastically “We’re going to be working over time, I tell you…”  
Carlos chuckled, shaking his head. Oliver gave him a side-glare.  
“What’s so funny?” He asked, looking at Carlos.  
“Nothing! Nothing! It’s just...you sound like someone I know…” Carlos answered, smiling.  
Oliver let out a breath, and turned his head the other way.  
“We gotta hurry…” He murmured  
Carlos nodded his head. 

-Time skip-

Late Afternoon:  
Oliver had invited Carlos for dinner, so they both went in the necessary direction. On the way there, the streets were filled with people, still celebrating the fact that they were at war. Carlos was indifferent about the situation, saying that he would only do something about the war if necessary. When they got to their desired location, Oliver’s home, they entered. The minute Oliver entered, he knew Redmund had returned home, judging by the strong smell of whisky. Sure enough, the man himself peeked his head out of the kitchen, checking to see who had entered, and smirked when he noticed who it was.  
“Well, if it isn’t the good doctor and the half-breed! What brings you to my humble abode?” He asked, words surprisingly not slurred.  
“I live here!” Oliver exclaimed “And how are you not drunk yet? I would have thought you’d be drinking all day!”  
Redmund scoffed, “Ye know, I actually have a job. I can’t exactly drink there…” He said, heading back into the kitchen.  
“What about you half-breed? What brings you to the house of Feriseal and Quill?” Redmund called out from the kitchen, referring to Carlos.  
Carlos frowned at the nickname, “I’m not actually a ‘half-breed’, as you so kindly refer to me as…”.  
“The accent says otherwise!” Redmund shot back.  
Oliver sighed at his best friend's antics. He gave Carlos an apologetic look.  
“I apologize on his behalf.” He said, giving the kitchen entryway a heated glance.  
Carlos shook his head, the ends of his lips curving into a smile.  
“For the one year that I have known him, it’s always been this way. I’m kinda used to it by now.” he answered good-naturally.  
Oliver returned the smile, and put his stuff down, heading to the kitchen.  
“Please tell me you at least started on dinner?” Oliver asked Redmund, looking around the kitchen and not seeing signs of cooking.  
Redmund jerked his head towards the stove, where a large pot lay on top of it.  
“Pot full of broth. Enough for 6 people.” he answered, pouring himself some more whiskey.  
“The Scottish kind?” Oliver asked, lifting the lid and peeking in.  
“What else would it be?” Redmund answered, looking perplexed at the thought of another kind of broth.  
“Nevermind..”

-Later-

Everyone had been seated at the dinner table, enjoying the rest of the afternoon in pleasant chatter. The sun soon set upon the horizon, making the sky a mass of inky black, the sky dotted with white stars. But the sky darkening did nothing to stop the cheering, and the celebrating raging outside on their streets. People were yelling and drinking, something that surprisingly does not happen often. Every once in a while, an especially loud cheer would ring out, and Redmund would always hurry to the window, cheering with them. Carlos would look on with amusement, laughing, while Oliver would just shake his head. When the clock struck 9, Carlos had to excuse himself, saying that his girlfriend would be waiting for him at home. It turned out that the particular line would make Oliver choke on his drink, and Redmund spit his whiskey all over the floor. After they recovered, they interrogated Carlos, asking for details, much to Carlos’s despair. When they finally let him go, he bid them farewell, and when onto his own home. Oliver sat at the dinner table for a while, and then decided to clear the table, seeing as Redmund had no intention of doing it. As Oliver cleared the table, Redmund was looking out the window, the top half of his body out the window, looking out into the streets. When Oliver put the dishes in the sink, waiting until later to do them, he walked over to Redmund, and kicked him in the back of the legs, forcing Redmond's knees to buckle beneath him, and back into the house, banging his head in the window frame in the process.  
“Dè fo shealbh?!” Redmund yelled in Scottish Gaelic, rubbing his head and glaring daggers at Oliver.  
Oliver just looked at him with amusement, and then motioned for him to follow, heading towards the living room. Remund growled at him, but followed nonetheless. Oliver took a seat on the couch, looking at Redmund expectantly. Remund got the memo, and sat across from him.  
“...You knew what I was going to say sooner or later” Remund said, brown eyes peering into dark green ones.  
“The army business…” Oliver murmured, crossing his arms in front of his chest.  
“Yes, the army business. Olly, we are at war. With someone with your skills, not one person would fall under your watch.” Redmund exclaimed, grabbing Oliver by the shoulders.  
Oliver looked him dead in the eyes. He had no idea how at some point in his life he fell for them.  
...Nevermind, he did, but that wasn’t the point!  
Oliver knew that Redmuch wouldn’t stop pestering him about joining the army. He would always find ways to bring it up. The way that his hands gripped his shoulders. The way that his brown eyes basically lit up with fierce determination, and excitement. He wanted this. It looked as if he also needed it. It scared Oliver.  
“I haven’t lost a patient yet, but it’s bound to happen.” Oliver whispered, shaking Redmund off and getting up, pacing.  
“You won’t!” Redmund exclaimed, watching him.  
“How do you know that?!” Oliver exclaimed, nearly shouting.  
“Because it’s you!” Redmund said, just as loud as Oliver did. “You are too skillful for you to let someone die!”  
“But someone will! I can’t control death!” Oliver pushed past him.  
“Oliver please! You said you would consider it!”  
“I did, and my answer is no!”  
“What if they sought you out? Then would you do it?” Redmund asked, wheeling around to look at Oliver’s back.  
“If they do seek me out, then I’ll have no choice but to do it!” Oliver answered.  
“They’ll most definitely look for you. You’re the best of the best!” Redmund said, waving a hand at Oliver.  
“You can’t be sure.” Oliver answered.  
“Oh I am very sure they will come get you, Oliver. They need you.”  
“...No…Not unless they need me. Understood?” Oliver answered after a while.  
“They will.” Redmund said, putting his hand on Oliver’s shoulder.  
“They better not.”

Year: 1916. April

“Are you new here?” One of the men in a french accent asked, looking into Oliver’s face.  
“...You could say that…” Oliver murmured, turning his head.  
“You are an army doctor.” This was more of a statement than a question. The man’s eyes drifted to Oliver’s shoulder, where in his uniform, the red cross shone.  
Oliver said nothing.  
The man didn’t give up though, and kept asking him stuff, trying to get to know him.  
“You have family in the trenches?”  
“...My friend is there…”  
“Doctor? Or soldier?”  
“Soldier”  
“What's his name? I might know him.”  
“...Feriseal.”  
The man nodded once.  
“Redmund. Oui, he’s a good fighter. Reckless though.”  
Oliver looked away.  
“...I haven’t even introduced myself yet. The name is Jules. Jules Jullien. But people call me J.J.” Jules held out his hand.  
“A pleasure.” Oliver didn’t take it  
“...Not even a name? Mon dieu, you’re hard to crack.”  
“Quill. Oliver Quill” Oliver said, annoyance laced on his words.  
“I had heard that the people of Britain did not talk much, but I am positive they are true now.” Jules said, leaning back.  
“Most of us don’t, but you’ll find a defective one somewhere around. Redmund is.” Oliver murmured, once again not meeting his eyes.  
“Oui, but he’s scottish. Different places. Or so i’ve heard.”  
“I guess…”

-Time Skip-

Wet and smelly. Those 2 words described the trenches perfectly. The French and British army’s had dug in one of the wettest parts of the River Somme. Oliver never really had a reason to be in France, but here he was.  
“Quill!” A harsh voice rang out.  
Oliver turned to see a soldier coming towards him, knowing that by the way he held himself, was most likely a general. Oliver stood up straight, arms firmly beside his side.  
“You are Quill, are you not?” The general asked, harsh once more.  
“Yes sir.”  
“It’s General Abbott to you, Quill. You’ll be stationed here, and I expect you to be one of the best out there! Choosing to leave will result in death. Am I understood?”  
“Yes General.”  
“Good. You’ll be working closely with one of our current medical officers. He’ll show you the way things work around here. Marina!” Abbott yelled out.  
A man with black hair and blue eyes rushed forward, wearing the same uniform Olive was currently using. He had a first aid bag slung around his shoulder, and he was putting away rolls of bandages.  
“Yes sir?” he asked, an Italian accent lacing his words.  
“This is Quill. He’ll be joining you in the field. I expect you to show him how things are done here.” Abbott said firmly, eyes dark.  
Marina nodded. “Of course, Sir”  
“Good. Proceed.” Abbot said, pushing past them, and heading right, yelling order while he did so.  
Marina watched Abbott go, and then turned to Oliver, blue eyes studying him critically. After a while, he smiled, and held out his hand.  
“Piacere di conoscerti. My name is Angelo Marina. But just call me Angelo. I was never one to call people by their last name.”  
Oliver shook his hand, “Oliver Quill. A pleasure. I didn’t know Italians were all the way here.”  
“There aren’t a lot of us. We’re sort of scattered all over the trenches.” Angelo said, turning and motioning Oliver to follow.  
Angelo walked through the trenches, stopping once in a while to ask someone about their injuries. He spoke as he walked.  
“There are many dangers to being here in the trenches. One of them is the gas. When the tedesco’s on the other side send one of them towards us, they always try to do it near the trenches. The reason for that, is because the gas will settle itself on the trenches itself. You have a gas mask, right?” Angelo asked, turning to look at him.  
Oliver nodded, patting the gas mask hanging on his hip.  
Angelo nodded.  
“Good. You will definitely need it.”  
Angelo trudged ahead.  
“Another danger we will face is whenever one of the officers says we have to go over the top. A lot of the people here end up not going, in fear that they’ll be shelled. We, as in you and I, don’t have a choice in not going. We have to go, it’s an order. We have to rescue anyone injured, and get them out. We don’t have a choice.”  
“Of course. That is why we are here.” Oliver said.  
Angelo gave him a lopsided grin.  
“I like your way of thinking! Let’s go, I’ll introduce you to people.”  
Angelo basically paraded Oliver around like a puppy, introducing him to everyone he came across.  
“This is Milo, Pierre, Jackson, Henrik, Jameson, Marvin, and-! Oh! Ciao, Signe! This is Oliver, he’s my partner! Isn’t he fancy? He’s british!”  
Oliver was amazed at how much energy and happiness Angelo gave off. From what he had heard, this war was getting rather bloody. But as Angelo kept introducing him to everyone, he saw that the people feed off his good mood. The men in the trenches smiled when Angelo came to view, and even laughed. Oliver saw that Angelo was a very important part of the people. He returned the light into people’s eyes, and kept them grounded. Oliver could appreciate it.  
Oliver was standing by the side as Angelo was talking to a french soldier, when he heard a voice call out his name, in a familiar scottish accent.  
“Olly?”  
Oliver stiffened and gasped slightly, turning around to look at the person whose voice it belonged to.  
Sure enough, Redmund stood behind him, looking just as shocked as he did.  
“O-Oliver? What are you doing here? You should be in the streets of London, not-!” Redmund began, until he was cut short by Oliver slamming into Redmund, arms wrapped around him.  
Oliver was not a hugger. At all. So for him to actually hug someone, especially Redmund, was as likely as the world ending.  
Redmund went stiff, then let out a breathy laugh, and returned the hug.  
“The world must be ending if you of all people are hugging me.” He said, voice full of amusement.  
Oliver suddenly separated himself, and punched Redmund in the arm. Hard.  
“Ow! What was that for?” Redmund exclaimed, rubbing his arm.  
“You bloody git! What the hell am I supposed to think? You stopped sending me letters, and the last one you sent me made me worry sick! Who the bloody hell ends a letter with ‘I hope you hear from me again’?!” Oliver yelled, slowly getting louder by the second.  
“Olly, I was joking! I also got busy lately, so I couldn’t really send any more!” Redmund yelled just as loudly.  
“2 months, Redmund. 2 months! I hear nothing from you, and I fear the worst. Carlos kept trying to reassure me you were fine, but I knew something was wrong!” Oliver yelled, hands balled into fist.  
“I am fine!”  
“Oh really? Then what do you call that?!” Oliver pointed to Redmond's arm, where a bandage covered a portion of his bicep.  
“A graze. Barely did any damage. But that’s not important! Don’t tell me that the only reason you are here, is because you were worried about me.”  
“N-no! Of course not! Some people approached me, and asked for my aid. You know I said I would only join the war if I was approached. Well, it came true, and here I am.” Oliver sputtered, a light red tint dusting his cheeks.  
Redmund noticed, and smirked. He would be lying if he said he didn’t feel touched over the fact that Oliver was so worried, that he came all the way from London, to the River Somme in France. It was at that time that Redmund noticed Angelo.  
“Angelo! Don’t tell me your gonna be working with this one over here” Redmund grinned, pointing to Oliver.  
Angelo grinned back at him.  
“Yes I will. He and I will be working closely together.” Angelo answered.  
“Well good luck with that! He’s a difficult person to work with. I should know.” Redmund laughed.  
“I’m not that big of a twat!” Oliver defended, crossing his arms.  
“Yes, and we all believe you.”  
Oliver rolled his eyes, and sighed. He then turned serious once more and turned to look at Redmund.  
“Are you alright?” He asked sincerely.  
Redmund looked at him warily. Now that Oliver looked at him properly, there were many things different about his best friend. Besides the obvious injury, many small cuts adorned his exposed skin. His dark red hair was knotted and muddy, much like the rest of him. There were dark circles under his brown eyes, and the spark of mirth that Oliver usually found there was nearly gone, buried under pain. Deep pain. The pride was still there, but it was significantly smaller. But as Oliver kept looking into the eyes, he saw the mirth slightly return. Just what had happened to make Redmund, one of the most obnoxious people Oliver had ever met, be tamed into what he was now?  
“This is war, Olly. It ain’t supposed to be pretty.” Redmund said, voice steely.  
Oliver didn’t push the matter. He only nodded, and straightened.  
“Right…”  
The silence that followed was both tense, and painful. Angelo looked between Oliver and Redmund, trying to find the right words to say. By the way that Oliver and Redmund interacted, Angelo concluded that they were most likely extremely close, but the war had obviously put a strain in their friendship.  
Redmund sighed, and rubbed his injury.  
He stood still for a moment, then smiled, and put his arm over Oliver’s shoulder.  
“Let me introduce you to everyone.”  
Oliver’s eyes widened, “I-it’s fine! Angelo has already-!”  
“HEY! Mathieu! This is the British jerk I was talking to you about!” Redmund shouted at a man south of them.  
The man, Mathieu, turned to look at them. He had long, blonde hair that grazed his shoulders. A wayward curl was bouncing towards the middle of his hairline, the curl taking a ‘Q’ shape. His eyes were a strange shade of violet. He was just as tall as Redmund, about 5”6, which in other circumstances might have made him intimidating, however, he had a petite face, looking almost childish. When he turned to look at them, he grinned shyly, and waved almost timidly. Redmund took his arm from Oliver’s shoulder, and proceeded to take poor Mathieu’s arm, dragging him towards Oliver.  
“R-redmund! Can I please have my arm back?” Mathieu squeaked, voice so soft, Oliver could barely hear him. He had a French accent.  
“Come on, Mattie! You have to start talking to people!” Redmund exclaimed, pulling him.  
“I’d rather not…”

-June-

“Olivero! Get over here! NOW!”  
Oliver turned his head sharply, toward the sound of Angelo’s voice, and flinched.  
Angelo was currently trying to drag a fallen soldier to the safety of the trenches, the lower part of the soldiers chest riddled with at least 3 bullets. From only a brief glance, Oliver could tell the bullets hadn’t hit anything important, but if they didn’t stop the bleeding…  
Oliver rushed forward, and took the soldier’s legs, lifting him. He nodded at Angelo. With both of them now carrying him, they made their way to the trench. With as much care as they could, they dropped into the trenches, and put the soldier on the floor. He hissed in pain.  
“We have to hurry. Or else it’ll get infected.” Oliver said, ripping the soldiers shirt to take a better look.  
“Si. My thoughts exactly.” Angelo murmured, scooting over to Oliver.  
Angelo turned to the soldier, and began asking him questions.  
Oliver peered into the man's chest, and saw that his earlier statement was correct. 3 bullets. All to the abdomen. The bullets were acting like a cork, delaying the blood from flowing. Oliver took the bag from his shoulder, and grabbed a pair of medical tweezers. Angelo looked up and raised an eyebrow.  
“Are you sure?” he asked, looking at him in the eye.  
Oliver nodded. “God knows what those bullets are covered in.”  
Angelo looked at the man's abdomen, and furrowed his brow. After a while, he nodded, and shifted to look at the man, or Louie, in the eye.  
“This is going to hurt.” Angelo told him.  
Louie simply nodded, and set his jaw. He looked at Oliver.  
Oliver nodded.

-Time Skip-  
“He needs to be monitored 24/7. Change the bandages every 2 hours, and clean the wounds while you change them. Inform either me or Quill if something else develops.” Angelo told the army doctor in front of him, writing everything down on a piece of paper. When he was finished, he handed it to the army doctor.  
Angelo sighed, running a hand through his black hair. Oliver had managed to take the bullets out, in order to prevent infection. That had caused Louie to start bleeding out though. Due to both Oliver and himself ‘s quick thinking, they had managed to stop the bleeding, therefore saving Louie’s life.  
Angelo’s fellow doctor looked through the paper, and nodded. He then turned to the two soldiers holding the cot, and ordered them to load Louie in. Both Louie, who had been propped up, and Oliver turned to look at them. Oliver had been talking quietly to Louie, a notebook and pencil in hand. His hand glided through the paper.  
Oliver bid Louie farewell, and shook his hand. He watched as Louie was carried away.  
Angelo walked up to Oliver’s side, and stood there.  
“I always see you with that notebook. Everytime we help someone out, you always talk to them with your notebook. Perché?” Angelo spoke, eyes looking at said notebook.  
Oliver chewed his bottom lip.  
“...Promise you won’t laugh?” He asked, looking slightly embarrassed.  
“lo prometto”  
Oliver sighed, and opened his notebook. Inside, there were rough sketches drawn in them, each depicting patients they have seen. There were also other scenarios. Angelo could make out No Man’s Land.  
“Are these…?” Angelo flipped through more of the pages, “All of the people we have seen?”  
Oliver nodded, taking the notebook and flipping through it.  
“Yes, it is. I...don’t want to forget the people I have helped.”  
Angelo nodded, “I get it…”  
A bomb went off, somewhere on the south, along with yells of men, and both Oliver and Angelo turned around, grabbing their bags, and rushing towards the sound. Another bomb, this one closer to them. Dirt, water, and rocks rained down upon them. They took no notice, and kept running.  
“Olivero!” Angelo called out from behind him, turning right, towards a ladder, “You go left, I go right, and we meet back here, si?”  
“Right!”  
Oliver ran towards the nearest ladder, and shoved his way towards it. He grabbed one of the steps, and before he could begin climbing, a hand reached out, and grabbed him by the shoulder, yanking him down.  
“Where the hell are you going?” Redmund snapped, gun in hand.  
Oliver gave him a glare, and jerked his shoulder out of Redmund’s grip. He once again grabbed the ladder, and began climbing.  
“My job!” He shouted, before disappearing above to No Man’s Land.  
Oliver looked at the right to see Angelo helping someone towards the trench. Angelo looked like he was doing fine, so Oliver turned around to look towards the left, searching for anyone in need of assistance.  
Instead, what he found was death.  
Bodies were everywhere, some already skeletons, others fresh. Oliver never really paid mind to the smell down at the trenches, since he worked at a hospital, and that place reeked of medicine and other strong smells. But now that he was up here, the smell was much worse in his opinion. He wasn’t a very nauseous person, but now he felt sick. The skeletons were worse than the fresh bodies. He could see hair still attached in the small bit of flesh hanging on their scalp. He could see the bullet hole forever carved into their bones, delivering the fatal blow. Most of them were still wearing their uniforms, but a few of the ones that had been there for a long time, had long dissolved, and revealed the grimmy white bones under.  
Oliver put a hand on his mouth to try and stifle the hurt.  
All this death, and for what?  
A chance to prove to some other nation that they were better?  
Oliver took a step back, hand still covering his mouth. He’s been to No Man’s Land multiple times, but had never actually looked at his surroundings. His drawings were mostly people’s description of them, but he had never imagined that it would be like this. He could see the other side of the trench, where he knew the Germans would be. The other side looked no worse than their side. Barbed wire blocked the entrance towards the Germans trenches, just like it did for their side. As he watched the german side, a head poked out of the trenches. Oliver made eye contact with a german soldier no older than him. Oliver froze, as well as the german soldier. They both simply looked at eachother. Oliver noted that the soldier had blue eyes. And there was fear in them. Suddenly, something grabbed Oliver’s uniform collar from behind, and dragged him back into the trench. Oliver gave a cry of shock, and fell backwards, into the trench. But before he fully fell, he saw the german soldier whom he had made eye contact reel back in surprise. Oliver landed on someone with a grunt, and immediately rolled to the left, trying to get away. He got on his hands and knees, and clenched his eyes shut, trying to control his shaking breathing. As it turned out, Redmund was the one to have pulled him in, and the person in which Oliver had landed on. Redmund groaned, sat up and turned his head sharply to look at Oliver.  
“What were ye thinking?!” Redmund yelled, “You could have been shot!”  
Oliver said nothing.  
It was then that Redmund noticed in what kind of state Oliver was in. Redmund got up slowly, and approached Oliver.  
“Oliver?” He asked, reaching a hand towards him.  
Oliver took a deep breath, and got on his knees. With closed eyes, he turned his head upwards. He took one more deep breath, and opened his eyes. Oliver stood up, and dusted himself off. Redmund watched silently, eyes full of concern.  
“I’m fine.” Oliver murmured, eyes downcast. He turned towards Redmund, and walked past him.  
Redmund didn't even try to stop him.  
Oliver walked briskly. Where he was going, he had no idea. He just knew that he had to get away from that place. He walked swiftly past Angelo, who was asking for him, and kept walking despite his calls. He shouldered past Mathieu, who was also also looking for him, but before he could fully walk away, Mathieu grabbed him by the arm.  
“Oliver, wait!” Mathieu said, his grip on Oliver’s arm tightening.  
Oliver gave him an exasperated look, and tried to get his arm back. Mathieu might have looked petite, but he had an iron grip.  
“What do you want, Mathieu? I have stuff to do!” Oliver spat, words filled with venom.  
Mathieu looked slightly shocked, but quickly changed back into concern.  
Oliver hated that look.  
“Je suis désolé, Oliver. But I believe that you would like this back.” Mathieu said, letting go of Oliver’s arm, and handing him a familiar looking notebook.  
Oliver realized it was his, and snatched it from Mathieu’s hand.  
“You left it back there, when you left in a hurry to get to the explosions.” Mathieu said, jerking his head behind him.  
“I...Thank you.” Oliver murmured, running a finger through the cover of the notebook.  
Mathieu nodded.  
“Of course. If you need anything, just ask” Mathieu spoke, giving Oliver a look of understanding. The same pained look that Redmund had when Oliver had first seen him here in the trenches resided in Mathieu’s eyes.  
Oliver simply nodded, then turned and walked, not truly knowing where he was going to end up. He walked for a few minutes, before stopping and sitting down harshly on a tent. He stared intently at the notebook cover, thinking. He then gave a sigh, and took out the extra pencil he always had with him. He opened his notebook at a random page, and put the tip of the pencil on top of it. For a while, he simply stayed like that, not moving.  
Until finally, he began drawing his very own interpretation of hell.

Fin

**Author's Note:**

> Hetalia reference ahoy! Lmao, if any of you see any other references, comment them, I would love to see your guesses. Again, this is my first time, so be gentle haha. I do plan on rewriting this at some point, since this was written about 2-3 years ago, and i've improved since then, but who knows. Anyways, thank you for reading! I don't actually think that this will garner any attention, but hey! Life is full of surprises.  
> Until next time!


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